


The Moth

by SerenLyall



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, introspective character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 21:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenLyall/pseuds/SerenLyall
Summary: He finds himself inexorably, inherently, inescapably drawn to her.





	The Moth

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first H/L fic in ages. Huge thanks to AmongstEmeraldClouds over on ff.net for inspiring me. Without her, this fic never would have happened.

She is a force of nature, a whirlwind tempest bound by human flesh. She is light, and she is dark. She is fire, and she is ice. She is damnation, and she is hope.

I find myself drawn to her, like a moth toward an open flame. Draw too near, and I fear I will be burned, my wings catching light and my body melting to ash and dust. Yet still I circle; still I drift, nearer and nearer, daring my wings to be clipped, challenging death's mighty grasp.

She is light. She burns, brighter and hotter than anyone I have ever met. Anger and fury and righteous wrath all ignite in her bones, in her body, in her blood, until fire eats at her skin, at her skull, at her heart.

She will burn up, I think. Her fire will consume her. She cannot he angry for eternity.

I wonder, now and always, how to take that burning, burning, burning fire from her--or, at least, abate it so it will not consume her.

She is shadow. Her hair is the night braided with stars, her eyes the darkness of cold space. Her lips are ice, formed and fashioned into the likeness of death--death, I think, that was begat by green flame (so unlike her own golden fire) and shattering rock, boiling ocean and vaporized cities. Her tongue is a blade, crafted and honed as a weapon against souls. She could drag whole worlds to damnation, I think.

Yet she does not damn. She saves.

She leads thousands unto freedom. She gives light to those caught in darkness, hope to those trapped in the mire, and shatters the chains of the slaves.

I have watched her spin golden threads of words, watched her build bridges and mountains and worlds. I have seen her bring men and women to their knees, seen her bring them up, up, up to the loftiest heights of the highest heavens. She has brought countless worlds into the Rebel's cause, has secured millions of credits, and all with her fiery tongue, her golden words.

I love her, I think in the deepest, darkest, most secret place of my heart.

I love her, and for her I would burn.

 


End file.
